


I am Damien

by lovingcasper



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, High School, Homelessness, Methamphetamine, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, POV Second Person, References to Drugs, Stalker, Violence, idk - Freeform, killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingcasper/pseuds/lovingcasper
Summary: I wanted to be you, so I became you.





	I am Damien

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoetOfMine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetOfMine/gifts).

I’m not a stalker. I was just fixated on you. Is it bad that I wanted to know you? A week ago, you caught my eye for the first time. Alone, you were licking your salt dusted fingertips across the dining hall. When we accidentally made eye contact, I felt shivers crawling down my spine, and I knew. I knew you would be the death of me.

Next thing, you were even in my physics class. Black watch on your wrist, chain necklaces around your neck, you twirled your pencil in between your hands and made eye contact for the second time. You, a stranger, were toying with me, and I kind of adored you for it. 

On a night where the moon was smiling, I saw you lying on your back, elbow enveloping your face, by the school plaza’s fountain.You were listening to water crashing against water. I guessed you were sleeping, so I neared you, but you weren’t when you glanced in my direction. I jumped at seeing your eyes slanted in a snakish way. I finally got it after that third time our eyes met. You obviously wanted me to follow you to your house. So I took to walking a safe distance behind you the next day, watching and waiting for you to walk up a house’s walkway. Instead, you got in a janky, old car and didn’t come out for hours. You lived in your car. I lived in a decently nice house, and I wanted to keep you there. As if you were a pretty pet of mine, I wanted to take care of you, lock you up, and feed you the best scraps from the table. 

You pulled me to the side by your locker. You caught me. You said you saw me standing behind a shrub in the rearview mirror of your car. I didn’t care. You were a nice boy, and I craved your kind lips on my neck as you talked. 

I wanted to be you so, so badly, so I cut my long, puke yellow hair and dyed it to match your maroon. 

“Your hair was so pretty, Rowan,” my friends and parents said to me repeatedly. Even you pointed it out in physics. You blatantly said you hated my new hair. I wanted to punch you in the face, so I did. You called me a monster as your pretty, pretty nose bled. How I wanted to destroy you in that classroom that day before the teacher pulled me away. 

My friends started looking at me like I was the monster you blamed me to be. I’m not a monster, I screamed in your face. You ruined me, by the way. I stopped hanging out with my friends, studying for exams, and eating. You were always on my mind. I skipped school for a day and broke your home’s window. As the alarm blared in my ears, I sat in the leather seat and touched everything. I smelled you, and I traced my tongue over the single hair you shed. Your car had a carpet of smoked joints, male porn magazines, and used condoms with overflowing cum. You were a man lover. A gay. I ran home with water in my eyes and snot dripping down my lips. I never had a chance with you, for you were a sinner. 

During lunch the next day, you grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me to the ground. Spitting on my face, you kicked me and screamed at me. 

“I know it was you, you psycho, idiot girl!” You didn’t stop kicking and kicking until a stranger pushed you away. My head was aching from the blows. Blood stained my hair, and I was sure I’d die. Turns out you only broke two ribs and gave me a concussion. This was nothing near the death I thought I would have for lunch.

I was supposed to spend a lot of time in the hospital, but I jumped out of the second floor window and into the bushes below after two days. I wanted to see you, Damien. You were so evil yet alluring. With teeth grinding from pain, I limped to school and found you outside by the fountain. I approached you and hit you in the back of the head with a rock. No one saw it because everyone was inside. Passed out, I dragged you to my house two blocks away. Someone stopped me and asked if we were okay. I told them that my father would help because he’s a doctor. They seemed concerned but shrugged and walked off. My dad isn’t a doctor. My parents were away for the day at work. I pulled you by the shirt up the stairs to my room. 

Your eyes fluttered open as I was tying you up. In the closet, where I made you a makeshift bed, you started yelling bloody murder. I stuffed a ball gag in your mouth and told you to shut the fuck up. You were mine.

I kept you there for days without my parents noticing. You were a good boy for me after you learned I wouldn’t hesitate to cut you up every time you wriggled. How I wish you struggled against the rope just so I can stick my blade on your flesh again. I fed you my leftovers, and you ate with eyes wide and watery. You were like a cute puppy. 

When I returned from school, I found you lying on my bed. You had somehow gotten out of the bondage, so I took my knife and slit your throat as you slept there on my pink sheets. I told you that if you ever escaped, you would die. I wasn’t lying.

To this day, years later, no one has missed you. I changed my name and moved out of my parents’ house. I live in a car and I spend my money on porn magazines and meth. I changed my name, and I have become you. I am Damien.


End file.
